


Bubble

by Agib



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drunkenness, Emotions, Light Angst, M/M, POV Spencer Reid, Pining, Prompt Fic, Protective Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid has High Functioning Autism, Tumblr Prompt, Worried Derek Morgan, but not in a fun way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25199926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agib/pseuds/Agib
Summary: Spencer has always been uncomfortable with touch and extended interactions. Growing up, he decided there were a finite number of people he trusted enough to fit into his life like that without immediately throwing him onto a ledge of discomfort.Only when he had been swept into the BAU did his bubble of trust begin to expand.Or, a prompt fic: “I didn’t ask you to do that!”
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 4
Kudos: 287





	Bubble

**Author's Note:**

> Requested from a bunch of tumblr prompts by @drink-it-write-it and posted on my tumblr @svn-f1ower-cm

Spencer has always been uncomfortable with touch and extended interactions. Growing up, he decided there were a finite number of people he trusted enough to fit into his life like that without immediately throwing him onto a ledge of discomfort.

His Mother had been one for the longest time. Ethan had, for a brief period. Aside from them, his childhood had been largely empty of such affection or communication.

University was much of the same, and while his respect for Gideon grew overtime, it took several months before he was comfortable enough with the man to not dance away from a placid hand-on-shoulder.

The academy mimicked this, and only when he had been swept into the BAU did his bubble of trust begin to expand.

Slowly but surely things ‘improved.’ JJ snagged him as a ripe candidate to befriend, as did Penelope. Elle had been cordial, but she wasn’t overly affectionate, so he never paused to worry.

Agent Morgan - Derek - had been... slow going, at best. But then again, Spencer should have guessed that from the very beginning.

_“Morgan, this is Doctor Reid. Reid, Agent Morgan.”_

_“Hey,” he’d said, holding out a hand to shake. Gideon opened his mouth before hesitating, exchanging a glance with Reid and closing it again, leaving the young man on his own._

_“Nice to make your acquaintance,” he responded. “I’m -” he looked to the man’s outstretched hand hanging between them. “I don’t shake, sorry.”_

_Spencer had tried to smile, really, he had, but it came out rather standoffish and he felt the need to expand, to what he assumed had been Gideon’s dismay._

_“No, that’s fair, man,” the older agent had said. To Spencer’s own chagrin, the hand folded into a fist and remained hovering between them._

_“While engaging in a fist bump only exchanges about ninety percent fewer bacteria as a handshake, research shows it would still, technically, be more sanitary to kiss,” he rattled off._

_“Ah,” Morgan tilted his chin upwards in confusion._

_Spencer did not miss the way Morgan’s eyes flickered over Gideon’s to meet Hotch’s. He raises his brows - not very subtly if Reid may add - and exchanges a wordless ‘really?’ Which, to be fair, Spencer is very accustomed to by now._

He thinks, if he had to put something to the excruciatingly slow process it was for Morgan to get anywhere close to his pocket of comfort-level space, it would have to relate to who exactly he related the slightly older man to.

High school had been a... racking experience for Spencer. Whether it be because of his brains or age, he had never suitably ‘fit in.’ The football team had demonstrated that fact better than anyone else in the school.

He found out several months into knowing Agent Morgan, that _he_ had been a footballer, back in Chicago at least. The knowledge eased what little guilt he felt upon just never clicking with the man, because at least he knew he was perceptive now.

It took approximately a year and eight months - _yes_ he counted, and _no_ , he didn’t pause to think about how that may come across - before he considered Morgan to fit into the outer circle of his trusted collection of friends.

This meant the man could joke and prod fun. _Pretty Boy_ , as Spencer considered himself to be ‘unconventionally attractive’ which was a rather soft way of telling himself he did not manage to fit the beauty quota for majority of society. _Kid_ , for his obvious lack of experience and years to his name. 

Morgan, at that early stage, also seemed to have the tendency to relate his perpetual eye bags to late night ‘escapades.’ Spencer only listed this under the wisecrack category because he assumed it was in reference to his _obvious_ lack of such relations.

He decided the agent had pushed himself into the second ring of comfort when Spencer found himself no longer stiffening when his hair was toyed with. Or, when a carefree arm was thrown around his shoulders.

One would expect Morgan then progressed to his inner-most set of trusted friends.

But no.

Because, to his utter horror, Spencer found himself mentally shuffling Morgan into an entirely different category.

He was _crushing_ on the man.

Understandably enough, due to his lack of experience, he spent moments in the presence of Derek Morgan hoping he would not initiate any form of casual intimacy. Spencer wished as much because he had hardly any self-preservation, as demonstrated by his first interaction with the man.

In his mind, anything could happen.

So, when he was forced to be in a situation he was already weary with, and a very inconsiderate man decided to make it worse, which only spurred Derek into feeling the need to jump in and save him, his reaction was valid.

There was a hand on his wrist. It was a hand belonging to somebody nowhere near his possessive bubble of comfort and trust.

There was alcohol scented words fanning across his cheek and an obnoxiously self-confident man breathing them.

Typically, Spencer would have been able to cope with one jaded interaction, but with the club music and the bodily contact he had already endured tonight, his distaste had been overloaded and was becoming physical disgust.

He hums, lightly twitching his fingers until the contact with his wrist ceases. It leaves a sensation behind though, which Spencer is used to, but hates all the same.

The man is speaking, but his hearing is half filled with sounds of the bar and base of the music, while the other is steadied by his own, barely audible humming.

He forces himself to turn in replacement of eye contact, so he faces this man when a knee bumps against his thigh.

“Hey,” he’s lip-reading but it works. “I asked if you were here with someone.”

Spencer fidgets and shakes his head “ _no_ ,” understanding from Morgan’s attempted pick-up lessons that ‘with someone’ meant as a _date_. He did travel to the bar with his co-workers, but that is not what this man means.

_Wait, does that not imply this man is... ‘hitting’ on me, as Morgan refers to it?_

He cringes outwardly and attempts to rectify such a rude motion with a smile.

_He has over-shot, the smile was too much - too leading_ , he decides as the man grins and leans forward to lay the same hand against his knee.

Spencer shrivels back, his face contorting in what must not be evident enough for an intoxicated man to read as ‘ _I do not like this._ ’ There is a brief moment in which he is trapped to do nothing but prepare himself to shoo this man away before he’s thrown into an entirely new situation.

“There you are, _Pretty Boy._ ”

And _ah_ , he recognises this voice, and not in an excitable way. He was unfortunate enough to witness what Derek Morgan looks like scaring the daylights out of an over-reaching drunk when Penelope had been in somewhat of a similar position on the dance floor of another club two months ago.

He really does not need his barely existent masculinity to be devoured by Morgan’s need to play hero on his part.

The agent’s arm comes to wrap around his shoulders which he would usually shy away from in fear of seeming too pleased by the affection. Instead, he relishes freely in it because it gives him the ability to lean his weight against Morgan and away from the other man who has likely said his name at some point in their encounter.

“Was wondering where you wandered off to,” Derek muses. His eyes are focused on Spencer, pointedly not on the man across from him.

He cannot help but loosen under his gaze, knowing he’s playing at something other than physical altercation to resolve this.

“Huh,” the man across from him narrows his eyes, specifically at the arm hung around Spencer’s neck. “Pretty Boy didn’t seem to be here with someone a few minutes ago, see.”

Spencer looks down at the floor, feeling culpable for how difficult this was going to make Derek’s odd angle. He half expected the borrowed use of his nickname might add a little gasoline to the fire of Derek’s temper.

“Well,” he says, leaning completely against Spencer’s side now. “That’s on you, man.” Morgan’s hand comes to twist with his tie, which has yet to be removed from work, and Spencer suddenly wonders if his co-worker is tipsy with all this extra touching.

They had prearranged for Morgan to be the designated driver, so that was out of the question. Even more absurd, Derek bends so far downward that his forehead brushes against Spencer’s temple as he mock-whispers, “you wouldn’t play me like that, would you, baby?”

And it was that - that, ‘baby’ line which threw him into the loop. 

_Derek was playing boyfriend as an escape tactic._

Self-righteousness must run in the club, because the man across from him pressed forward once more and had the nerve to one-up Derek’s play.

“Is this guy botherin’ you?”

This time, Spencer really expects a punch to be thrown, but yet again he finds himself bewildered.

“I don’t know,” Derek murmurs, almost too low for their current opposition to make out. “Am I _bothering_ you, babe?” And then, against what must be all of Derek’s intellect, he slides downward and presses a sloppy, close-lipped kiss against the side of his mouth.

He immediately flushes the same colour as the neon red strobe lights bouncing around the room, adding to his headache.

Taking a moment to right himself, Spencer reacts.

“Not at all, _honey_ ,” he forces out through grit teeth. He can practically feel Derek’s broad, proud smile aimed at the other man as he shoots upward from his stool and hooks two fingers into his belt loops to roughly tug him through the droves of dancing, sweating bodies.

Derek’s laughter rings in his ears as they finally manage to shove through the exit of the bar and onto the street.

“Just what in the _hell_ was that?” He demands, letting go of his friend and crossing both his arms across his chest petulantly.

His face was burning, his stomach had tightened in an odd way he’s never experienced, and the space covering the left corner of his lips felt alight with something other than whatever sensation the other man had left behind.

Something _pleasant_ , this time.

“Fast thinking, a helping hand, some role playing, hell - you can call it backup if you really want,” Derek drones.

“No! Why did you - you didn’t have to - to _make out_ with me!” He yelps.

Derek laughs, loud and vivaciously.

“Aw, kid, call it what it is, will you?” Morgan manages after working himself down from the amusement he so clearly enjoyed. Spencer stares at him incredulously. “A peck,” Derek deadpans. “It was a peck, at best.”

Label it as whatever he wanted, it made him covet _more_ in the worst way possible. So, he lashed out to hide such detestable reactions.

“I didn’t ask you to do that!”

Morgan straightens himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Look -”

“No, don’t ‘ _look_ ,’ me. I’m not the one who needs a gentle let-down here, Morgan.”

Derek’s jaw tightens and he looks away to the side, observing the reflections of the club lights against the asphalt and ignoring Spencer’s implications. “I did not need your conscientious interjection. Nor did I _want_ it, in any way.”

_Liar. Liar. Liar._

“You were clearly uncomfo -”

“What if I liked him, huh?” _God, never._

“I... he was drunk,” Derek argues, his resolve wavering.

Spencer feels as though he’s made his point. At least, he feels there is no feasible way Derek could interpret his reactions as anything close to desire.

“Standardised kissing can transfer up to eighty million bacteria,” he said quietly. Derek met his eyes like he was being further scolded, and Spencer finds himself softening. 

“... Which is, um, almost as much as a handshake.”

**Author's Note:**

> Lowkey feel like I overused the italics in this one...
> 
> Send stuff to @svn-f1ower-cm ! I love getting asks : )


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